Complications of the Heart
by cobalt elysium
Summary: Tom remembered the screaming voices of his name, but other than that, it was all that he remembered. Doug’s got one shot to fix things the way he wants it, but his web of lies will lead to devastating losses. DougTom
1. Disoriented

**  
Disclaimer: **Jump St doesn't belong to me. It belongs to the wonderful Stephen, who could have had some very raunchy story lines. I am just filling in the raunchiness where he didn't

**Summary:** Tom remembered the screaming voices of his name, but other than that, it was all that he remembered. Doug's got one shot to fix things the way he wants it, but his web of lies will lead to devastating losses. Doug/Tom

**A/N:** I'm hoping this is something different and hasn't been done in the Jump St area, and if it has, my apologies just let me know. If you've been reading 'To be used,' you'll notice I've made Doug a nicer guy XD Can't be a bitch to the big lug for everything! He's a teddy bear.  
Hope you enjoy, feedback is always appreciated and loved.

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**Complications of the Heart.  
**  
**Chapter One  
Disoriented.**

_"Tom! Tom! C'mon buddy… Tom!"_

He could hear the distant voices, soft and wispy, floating around his mind in white foggy swirls. Invisible, fine hands reached out towards him, pulling him into their turmoil of dancing, vivid colours. Their grasp forming into one large hand, his body growing heavier as the light became brighter, voices surrounding him.

_"C'mon Tommy, wake up for Christ sake. C'mon, open your eyes man. Tom! Jesus Tom, wake up!"_

He tried to ignore the harsh animalistic cries, tried to pull his body further behind him, back to his white fog of nothingness, mute of all life. He didn't want to go from here, he was comfortable and warm, at peace and content; why rob that from him?

"_Please Tom! Just wake up, even a little… please! move, speak, sing, dance… do _something_ you crazy fucker! Please Tom! Please!"_

He noted the hysteria, felt the shakes pummel through his body; the small tremors rattling his brain. Blackness surrounded him, he frowned at the loss of the silver, glistening hands, the loss of lively colour; where was he now? His head felt heavy and leaden, mind swirling, stomach following suite. His muscle ached and screamed, his bones tender and fragile; every ounce of him hurt and he swore to kill the man who pulled him from his weightless, painless world.

"_I'm not asking much Tommy, just-just open your eyes man, please, please…I'll never forgive myself."_

A twinge ran through his heart and suddenly he felt consumed by guilt. He didn't know why, who the person above him was, or even who he was, but he knew the owner of the voice was beyond hysteria and that he had caused it. Fighting the begging voice that pleaded to remain forever asleep and ignoring the protest of his creaking body, he struggled a little, breathing erratic and laboured, face scrunched.

"_Doug! Doug! He's stirring a little! Look Doug!"_

The second voice, a female, heightened his curiosity and he fought harder through the barrier that tried to block him, through the smothering blanket, fighting with his shred of power to reach surface.

"_C'mon Tommy, keep going, you're so close. Don't give up…"_

He felt the barrier break, felt air gush him and felt the cold of the world engulf him. His body shivered against the concrete, and his chest heaved with the effort, nose scrunched, eyes tight.

"That's it."

His ears twitched at the voices, now louder and closer than before and sounds around him startled him. The noise and blearing of a siren, the stern, commanding voice of an older man, sobs of a young woman, pleas of the person he had first heard and two unfamiliar hushed voices to the right of him. He took a last staggering breath before calming down.

"Open your eyes Tom."

He shook his head; he didn't have the strength. Laughter surrounded him and a small smile etched upon his face; laughter had never sounded better. The female voice spoke first.

"So like Tom."

"Trust Hanson to scare the shit out of us all."

He didn't recognise the third voice, another male, but it sounded cold and distant with a trace of playfulness; like all good and fun had been sucked from him and the cold front was easier than his true nature which longed to surface.

"He's still not opening his eyes."

The first voice again and he felt the need to prove different. He felt weak and limp, like a rag doll aged of many years, but he was determined and that alone was enough. Light pierced his vision and he squirmed on the ground, immediately held by two strong hands –Harry's- and he moaned some, his vision now dancing with flashing black dots.

"Tom?"

He didn't know whether to respond, and didn't care, the light tearing at his eyeballs so he closed them again, panting once more with a heavy tone, as if a weight was pushing down on top.

"Come on Tom, open them again. It won't hurt so much this time."

The voice was close and he registered that it belonged to the man currently pinning his chest down. He nodded, feeling the world rattle inside of his mind, and slowly opened his eyes. Four faces greeted him; a gentle lady's, a large but friendly man's, a young Vietnamese and a hard featured, with a mischievous smirk, man. He smiled into the faces, knowing nothing else to do.

"You had us scared Tom!"

His voice sounded distant and soft, the words thick on his tongue, tumbling into another, "Yea, why's that?" he wasn't even sure he had voiced his thoughts.

The four above eyed another, the dark, pretty female speaking first, "Don't you remember Tom?"

His mind spun and he frowned, trying to sit upright but finding he could barely incline his head; it only gathered more nervous and anxious looks, "Re-Remember what?"

"Get Fuller!" The man with the smirk had lost his distinct feature and nodded in full seriousness, bolting upright and heading off at a sprint.

"Remember what?!" His soft cry was ignored over the loud talking voices, mumbled out of his hearing. He picked up on a few words but they made nought sense to him and he couldn't find the energy to concentrate, "Remember what?"

"Shhh Tommy, it's gonna be alright. We'll get you some help."

"Here they come Doug."

The latter man nodded, turning back to face him, "Do you remember anything Tommy?"

He shook his head, thankful he knew a name to a face, "No, I'm sorry," he tested the word, "Doug."

"S'ok Tom." The soft smile did not hide his dejected tone.

An older man, dark and marked by lines of hard work, crouched alongside them, next to Tom, "Hanson. Do you know where you are?"

A mute shake.

"Do you know what happened?"

He shook his head, no, again.

"Can you remember anything at all?"

He looked into the five faces, all hopeful and waiting and felt he couldn't bring himself to disappoint them. He lifted his hand weakly, making a lame gesture to the man who had first spoken to him, "He's-He's Doug."

Looks were exchanged, not the reaction he had wanted, and he let his arm fall miserably, not understanding what he had done wrong.

"Call an ambulance," this was the older man again, "Something's not right here; I think there's been more damage than what we assumed."

"Have I done something wrong?"

"No," he shook his head smilingly, trying to calm the panicked Tom; his front friendly and comforting, contrary to the fear he felt, "I'm Captain Adam Fuller, you work for me."

He stifled a yawn, failing miserably, "Oh…" Suddenly tired and weak, he let his eyes drop shut.

"Hey!" an agitated cry, "Hey! No, no Tom, you gotta stay awake man," this was Doug's voice he realised.

"Sleepy," he murmured.

"I know Tom," Adam gave Tom's cheek a soft pat, "but you gotta stay awake for us, okay?"

"Okay," he had not opened his eyes.

"Tom!" the female begged and he felt the twinge of guilt yet couldn't fight the overwhelming urge to sleep.

"Judy, go see what's taking Ioki so long, I want an ambulance now, not tomorrow, not later, _now_!"

"Sir," he registered that he liked the name Judy, that it fitted the looks of the shimmering girl and her sweet voice, "He's coming back now."

"Tom, you still here?"

"Hanson, _stay_ awake!"

"Dennis, I need you to-"

"Judy, Harry go get some-"

"Tom! Hey Tom! C'mon, stay with us, _Tom!_"

"Hi Tom, I'm a medic. Can you he-"

The voices mingled and darkness crept in the corners of his eyes, coloured dots dancing playfully together. His body dipped into itself, the heavy leaden feeling ceasing as he became light and eerily airy. The same invisible hands welcomed him back down to the white foggy swirl and he settled once more comfortable in the embrace of his subconsciousness.

His world was mute once more.

- - -

When Tom next awoke, it was less dramatised and more painful. Darkness swamped him, the edges of his abyss fuzzy with colour. His whole body ached and Tom wasn't sure where a limb started or ended, his pain was just once gigantic mass. He stirred a little, flexing his fingers along the cool cotton sheet, stretching his body only inches. He let an exhausted sigh escape him, lingering in the darkness, holding off the awakening.

Noises buzzed around him, harsh and cold, sterile almost. A faint click matched that of his heart and a TV monitor sounded somewhere to the left, news reader voices mumbling incoherently to him. Rolling wheels buckling under weight passed slowly by and he wondered idly what was being carried, lugged around. He sighed again, face scrunched as a wave of pain drowned him, engulfing him in its cold arm of agony.

"Hey."

He burrowed his brows; he recognised that voice, he knew he did, he just couldn't place it.

"Tommy?"

Doug, he stated to himself. That was the man who had first spoken to him. He nodded passively, struggling to open his eyes. They felt heavy and weighted, tired yet restless. It seemed such an effort, such an energy-drain to open them even a fraction, yet the curiosity as to where he was overruled.

"He's coming round. Hey! Doc! He's coming round." Doug's voice had risen as he'd spoken, then lowered again, "Should I get Jude, Iokage and Dennis?"

"No. Not now. I think it's just best if it was just you and Tom," Fuller's footsteps retreated, growing distant.

"You…You sure?"

There was no response and he assumed the former man had not minded. He wished he could pinpoint the voice, he was certain it belonged to one of the five he had heard before.

"Mr. Hanson? I'm Doctor Anderson."

He inclined his head a little, wincing as a shooting pain travelled his vertebrae, throbbing in his mind, pounding behind his eyes. Blearily, he forced his eye lids to open, waiting for the room to focus. He looked dazedly at the Doctor in white gowns, unable to focus. He wasn't aware of the silence, nor the anguished looks both Doug and the Doctor exchanged.

"I'm going to ask you a few questions, is that alright?"

He decided he liked the calm tone of the Doctor, the firm yet gentle voice that effortlessly welcomed him, that enticed even that hardest of men. It wasn't patronizing, nor aggressive; he seemed perfectly content and jealously stabbed him, yet he nodded in agreement. "Sure…"

The young Doctor took a seat on the edge of Tom's bed, a clip board tucked under his arm, "Can you tell me your name?"

The question puzzled him and he stared on blankly, trying hard to pick out a single name from the depth of endless black, endless nothingness. Pulling himself upwards a tad, so that he was half upright, he scrunched his eyes, trying hard to remember.

"Anything at all?"

He snarled without thinking, "Don't rush me!" and heard the laughter of Doug again- he would ask later what was so amusing. "_C'mon Tommy, keep going, you're so close.'_ A smile etched his face and he unclamped his eyes, "_Trust Hanson to…"_ He focused again, "_Tom! Come on!"_

"Tom, Tommy Hanson."

A smile of relief flooded Doug's face and the Doctor offered a generous smile, "Good. That's very good Tom." Tom smiled back, relieved to know his own name, "Can you tell me how old you are?"

Though Tom tried his hardest to recall anything that had been yelled, screamed or spoken to him, tired to recall anything before the massive patch of black blocked his path, he failed miserably and shook his head; no.

An exchange between Doctor Anderson and Doug were made, worried and sceptical, "Do you know the date or day today?"

Another mute shake.

"Do you know where you are, Tom?"

Tom surveyed the room, thought until his mind throbbed more than it already did and came up with a blank. He solemnly shook his head, "Sorry," he muttered.

"It's alright Tom," his smile was reassuring and Tom felt a little better, "Can you remember how you got here?"

Tom smiled softly, "I'm really sorry, I-I can't remember anything at all. I only know that he's Doug," he gave a timid smile to the larger man, "and I'm Tom, Tommy and Hanson."

Doug laughed, moving aside from the doctor to pull the chair next to Tom's bed, so he was touching the sheets fabric, "No," he laughed again, "You're name Thomas Hanson, but we've always called you Tom. Sometimes Tommy, or Hanson, but they're all the same name; we don't call you three different names."

The keyword Tom had picked up amused Doug further still, "We?" his face crumpled into confusion.

"I'll explain later Tom." Though his face was white and tired, his eyes twinkled and for a moment the tiredness and fear had evaporated.

Anderson interrupted the reunion and stood up, shaking Tom's limp hand, "I'm going to go see some results, let you have some dinner and rest for the remainder of the night. Tomorrow I'll come by to talk to you, is that okay?"

"It's okay."

"Goodnight Tom."

Tom smiled, unsure of a reply and looked back at Doug. He felt relaxed in his presence, even though Doug could easily crush Tom, knock him out or kill him, he felt relaxed and at ease. There was something so alluring about him, his playful, childish nature and humorous antics allured you and Tom was glad he knew Doug; however he knew him.

"You've been out for hours."

Tom didn't know to reply and let him continue rambling.

"You really had me scared," Doug fiddled with threads of the blankets, "I mean real scared. Not like the time you went missing, or needed up in the youth attention place, or when I get claustrophobic, I mean real scared. Real fear. You know?" he swallowed, "I mean, I thought you were gone. You just went smack, and there was blood, so much god damn blood and you weren't moving, nothing, not a twitch, not a stir, nothing man." His voice shook as the respective of his body followed. "You seemed dead."

Tom let his head fall, flooded with Doug's touching emotion, "I'm really sorry."

Through unshed tears, Doug laughed, "Jesus, no. Thank god you're alive, don't be sorry man. Just-Just don't ever do that again, alright? I can't handle a scare like that at my old age."

"Are you old?" Tom paused he had seemed young to him. Then how old was Tom himself, Tom thought _he_ at least _sounded_ young, "How old am I?" Suddenly, his mind was ambushed with questions and he spilt them all out to Doug, "Are we friends? Did we meet, do we work together? Who's that girl, or did I dream her? And the guy in before hand, and the Doctor…where am?! No," his face flushed in heat, "How'd I get here? What happened to me? Did I die? Oh Jesus I died didn't I?! Am I alive…?" His face crumpled, "Who _am_ I?"

Doug stared stunned at Tom, trying to calm him down with nonsensical hand gestures. "Whoa, easy there. I can't answer them as fast as you dish 'em." He paused, a smile creeping on his face at Tom's confused expression; he had always believed that Tom's state of confusion was the most adorable, next to his forever pout. "I'm really not allowed to tell you anything, Tom. It's because we need to know how much damage is done. Once I'm given the all clear, I'll tell you everything you want to know. Alright?"

Tom nodded.

Doug still felt guilty though; he assumed it may have something to do with Tom's brimming eyes, long face, quivering bottom lip and the swollen cheek bones, bruised, cut and swollen lips, raw and scratched, bruising face and the defeated look in his eyes. It had given him such a vulnerable quality the strong minded man had seemed to never carry, "Don't worry about it okay, you'll know it all soon enough."

"I can't remember anything, can I?" He touched a hand to his head, wincing, "It's so painful, my body hurts, and my minds aches…my face feels numb and raw…I can't feel anything but tingles and heaviness…I'm alright though, aren't I?"

Doug nodded, his hand curling around Tom's spare one, warming the frozen tips.

"What happened to me?"

Doug chocked, unable to tell, "I can't say anything Tom…it's an answer that'll lead to more questions and I could screw everything up…I just want you to get better, otherwise I'd tell you everything in a heartbeat."

Tom accepted this, letting his numb hand warm beneath Doug's larger one, "Can you tell me anything…?" He watched Doug shake his head regretfully and forced a crooked smile, "That's okay," he felt a gentle squeeze pass his hand and his smile grew straighter, "So we're friends, right?"

Doug nodded, smiling, "The McQuaid Brothers!" He was greeted with confusion and he laughed softly, "You'll understand when you…you know," he didn't know how to put it. Eventually he stammered to a halt, nodding simply, tone serious for a rare time, "But yea, we are. We're really close friends; you've been my best friend, and I like to think that I'm yours."

Tom still wasn't too sure about Doug's character, he seemed nice enough, really nice and gentle and, well, lovable, he opted, but there was something 'off' that Tom couldn't place, "I'm sure you were," he wondered how fake his tone sounded.

A silence descended and the ticking of a clock could be heard, each solitary tick throbbing in Tom's mind, screaming at him, mingling with voices. _'Get out of the fucking way! Move you fucking Pig!'_

He shuddered at coldness in the voice, the uncaring tone and undertone of so much pain, so many years of hurt and anger. _'You think I'm fucking joking!' a revving, 'Move! Or I swear to what ever fucking God has been fucking me up the ass for seven years, I'll kill ya!' _His breathing increased, pounding his chest cage, starving his lungs of air, tearing at him. He knew the voice, and yet he couldn't put a face to a name, couldn't even drag a name from air, yet it seemed so vivid so real…

Doug felt the quivers run through Tom, saw him scrunch his eyes up and his breathing increase until it became laboured and smothering. Panicking, he called for Tom but each time received nothing but a small jump, a little twitch. Unwilling to leave Tom alone for even a minute, he crawled onto the cramped bad, wrapping his arms around Tom, warming the nimble frame.

Tom felt the body encircle him and tensed beneath it; who was this? Where was he? The voice disappeared and a new one replaced it and he tried to break free of Doug, '_Tell me you like it Tom, tell me…let me hear you pant it out…you want more… I know you do, don't you…you little minx' Strong arms. 'You're tired are you? In pain, huh? You wanna stop, do you? Well fuck you! We stop when I say we stop!"_

He was lost and confused, drowned by things he couldn't remember, voices he didn't know, face he couldn't see. He heard soothing tones and didn't know if they were real or in his mind, but he pulled them aside from the taunting, leering, mocking ones; anything that sounded a least calming, somewhat soothing, he would welcome.

"C'mon Tommy, shhh, it's just a bad…" What? Dream, nightmare, suppressed memory…post-trauma? "Just, come on…snap out of it already…please"

Tom nodded against the chest and opened his eyes, his breathing evening out, sweat sticking to strands of his hair, plastering it against his forehead, "I don't now what happened," he rushed.

"Don't worry," but Doug's tense tone told him different.

"No," he refused, "No…something…something happened. I remembered things but…" he tried to remember the exact words, tired to get the tones of the separate voices but couldn't grasp what was only thinly there before, "I can't now…they're gone…" he looked pleadingly into the sceptical eyes of Doug, "They were there but, I mean it, I swear….I heard….it"

Doug nodded, "It'll come back Tom, It'll come back…"

Anger ruled him, "Get away from me," he pushed at Doug's chest and the sudden movement caused Doug to slip a little on the bed, losing his grip and hold, "I don't even know you!" he didn't see the pain form in Doug's gentle eyes, "You could be a crazy fucking psycho for all I know! Who are you!?"

"I'm-I'm Doug, Tommy. We're-"

He screamed, "I know _that!_ I know that already! I mean who you are, who I am, where we work, how I even god damn know you?!" he liked the way the words left his mouth ravenously, spitting like fireballs, "All I know is that you're Doug and I'm Tom. How the hell is that going to help me?"

Doug stood, unsure of where to go, his voice quiet and timid, "I-I don't know Tom."

"You don't know much of anything!" he didn't know why he was being so uptight and mean to the one person who he actually knew a little; maybe it was because of the fear he had just felt moments ago, but he wasn't sure. Two voices had just invaded his head with cruel taunts and he couldn't place them and it scared him; everything about the situation he had landed himself in scared him.

"Calm down Tom."

"Fuck you," yet his voice was thin and hazy, mind throbbing to such an extent he felt he was going to vomit. He slipped down the bed, now lying once more on his back, "I just…I just want to wake up." He didn't know where his body started and finished; his pain was endless.

Doug felt strength again as Tom became placid and frail, his words hitting a tender nerve for Doug that he found it easy to forget Tom's outburst; there would be many of these to come. "Don't worry," his flippant way enraged Tom.

"Don't worry?" he mocked, voice weak and docile-to anyone watching it would have seemed like a very close and tender moment, "Course I shouldn't worry, I mean, I only can't remember anything, just don't know the date or day of where the hell I'm at," he sighed, his hysteria rising and falling, "Don't worry…that's a laugh, what'll you say when I'm told I'll never regain anything, that I'm going to die in three days? 'It'll be just fan-fucking-tabulous!"

Doug's eyes rounded in guilt, and he sat near him again, trying his luck "Hey, no, c'mon Tommy…It's alright, it's not-it's not gonna be like that, it'll be alright Tom, I promise." He plastered a fake grin, trying to pull the distressed man from his pit, "Your Tom Hanson; things always get better."

His hysteria left him; deflated and limp, body curled among the cotton sheets, back facing Doug "Stop it Doug, just stop this, stop everything; stop calling me that. I-I don't remember anything, don't know where I am or who you are…I don't even know who I am…"

A tear traced its way across his cheek; clear and void, like his mind.

**Feedback is always appreciated.**


	2. Unfamiliar World

Disclaimer: My Universal Disclaimer to apply through the rest of this story. I really, seriously, don't own Jump Street. All respective characters and the TV show credits to Fox, 20th Centaury, Stephen, and the respective of the crew and cast behind Jump Street. I'm simply borrowing them.

**A/N:** I know this sounds corny and lame, but seriously, your reviews make me bubble! I love them and I can't thank you enough for the generous words and helpful ideas. Thank you Smiley as well, I hope this answers your question! And to my two favourite girls!

- - -  
**-Ignore this, trying to beat, once again, ffnet.-**

Chapter Two,  
Unfamiliar world

Doug stood helpless behind Tom; uneasy and uncomfortable. "Come on Tom," he pleaded willingly, "Don't cry man, it's alright."

"I hate you." The words were chocked and muffled in his voice, a child's exaggerated reaction to a situation he doesn't like, but they were still loud and audible to Doug, still sliced the core of his heart.

He opened his mouth, let stale air violate the clean, sterile hospital air then closed his mouth, lost for words. He stuffed his hands in his jackets pockets, determined not to let emotion get the better of him, not to let the day's events catch up with him; the stress and panic, fear and anxiety, sudden increases of energy and then exhausted, draining, sluggish movements rule him. "You don't mean that."

Tom snarled, sniffing his wet sobs, "Yes I do!" His voice was weak but biting; if he couldn't remember anything, didn't know who he was, he was going to at least have control of what he thought, said and felt. "I do! I really hate you! I hate you so god damn much! You don't know what I mean!! You may know who I am, you may know my life, and you may know everything about me that I don't, but you're _not_ _me!_ You don't say, think or feel what I do so fuck off! Don't tell me what I do and don't mean. I hate you!" He grabbed hold of his head, trying to still the dizzy nausea waves that crashed inside.

Doug stared stunned. He couldn't believe what Tom has suddenly spilt; all the rage and anger and the hurt was so evident in his eyes, that Doug's heart snapped, breaking slowly that the hot sensation of tears started to brim. A strong part of him knew that Tom didn't mean it. That Tom was upset and confused, lost and lonely and afraid; an even smarter, stronger part of Doug told him that the main reason behind the outburst and hatred was because a stranger, someone who wasn't Tom, knew Tom's life better than he did and it enraged him; understandable. Yet a menacing part of Doug warned him that the thoughts and voiced feelings of Tom must be genuine; after all, he had no recollection of who he was, he didn't know how to act, didn't know what to keep to himself…

"Tom…"

On his knees, hands still pressed against his head, Tom scrunched his eyes, "Go away! Just go away! I don't even know you, but you know me! How the hell do you know me when I don't know me! I don't even know my damn age and yet you do. I don't know anything but you know everything! I hate you!" the bed sunk under his moving weight, "I hate you, I hate you I hate you I hate you!"

Doug was rooted to the floor, terror and fear rising. He didn't know how to handle this Tom, didn't know how to react. He could handle a depressed Tom, a lonely, upset, distant Tom. A Tom who had suffered trauma of his girlfriends death, had let youth prison rule his soul, become enraged because Doug didn't consent ' Big Brother ' adopt a child program; but he couldn't handle a distressed, confused, lonely, afraid, lost Tom. "Please Tom," he begged, "Just calm down a little, breath some."

"Fuck you." His voice echoed inside of him, and he loved the sound of the bitter words, the cold tone, and the indifference manner. "I wish you didn't know me, so maybe then I could know me!" the reasoning and logic behind that was faint, but Tom found he didn't care. He just wanted to wake up from this mess and be able to say he remembered everything about himself instead of a stranger remembering it for him.

Doug knew Tom would never know how much he had just killed him, had bought, played and slaughtered his heart. Doug had never told his friend this, but he had loved him from the moment he had walked into the chapel with his J. F. Kennedy hair cut and straight laced ways. He had only loved Tom more each day as he grew and changed, let his hair down and allowed the youth he had lost rule him; make him the man he was only a day before now; lovable, funny, quick witted, compassionate and beautiful.

Doug swallowed, an effort not to cry and physically tear out Tom's heart, "Fuck me?" he questioned, voice unstable, "Fuck you Tom Hanson!"

Tom's eyes opened at the sound of the harsh voice, surprised that the man who reeked of nothing but love and gentleness could have such a cruel tone. He focused on the larger man, fear building; he reminded himself too late that he still didn't know this man, didn't know what he was capable of or his motives.

"Six am," he voiced, "Six am we get ready for work. Eight am you land your self in this fucked up way," he yelled harshly, "I worry about you, I fret, I cry, I pray, I hope, I beg….I was so scared, so god damn afraid and anxious and every else that I shouldn't have bothered about being! You've been here, asleep for nine hours and the sight of your body, torn and bruised and bleeding litres makes me gag and wrench every time and you sit there, blind to it all, dumb and stupid to everything and tell me to fuck off?!" he reached hysteria, face contorted in rage and hurt, "your hooked up on god knows what, you wavered for a while, reached danger a few times, and I sat through it all, stayed with you, talked to you and worried the fuck out of my brains and you have the god damn nerve to tell me to fuck off? To tell me how much you hate me!?"

Tom had pulled his hands from his ears midway through the yelling lecture. He cast his gaze downwards, having the decency to at least look guilty and ashamed. "Doug…" he hadn't meant to fly off at Doug like that; he just felt robbed that this man he didn't know, but apparently was very close to, knew the life he didn't. He was in a world, a place, he felt he didn't exist and was afraid and lost. He wanted so much to tell Doug that, but couldn't bring the nerve, "Doug…"

"Well you know what?!" he panted, calm once more, "I hate you too. I hope you just fuck off too. Why don't you just forget everything Tom, that way we can pretend 'us' never happened."

Realisation dawned on Tom, "Were we a couple?" he asked astounded; if they were, he had screwed things royally.

Doug's face froze then dropped in pain. He had often day dreamed Tom and him together, often had erotic thoughts of Tom, arousing conversations with him in his mind and to have Tom say what he had wanted for so long, ruined him the most. "No," he felt defeated, "No…just….just forget it Tom, forget me like you want to and I'll forget you."

Tom watched the emotions roll around in Doug's eyes, the orbs glistening with countless emotions Tom didn't know it was possible to feel all of that at once. Though the face remained blank, Tom knew he had said something-and knew what that something was- to distress and upset the man, the only man who he knew. "Hey, no…Doug, wait…"

Doug had already turned and headed for the door, ignoring the calls of Tom. He breathed wearily; he knew this wasn't Tom, knew that most likely in half an hour Tom wouldn't even recall this, but for now Doug knew it was best if he left for a while and maybe came back tomorrow; Tom had said a lot to think about, a lot Doug wanted to get drunk over.

"Maybe tomorrow Tom, I'm pretty wrecked."

The door clicked softly and Tom felt alone once more, empty and void. He hadn't realised- or maybe not wanted to- how Doug had given him a shred of reality. He pulled his knees from underneath him, body aching and groaning, protesting and screaming as he curled once more on the bed; knees to chest, back curled, muscles throbbing and screaming. He didn't care though, couldn't give a shit if he only worsened his pain, and didn't give a damn that bandages to protect the wounds were now open and bleeding once more, seeping through the white. It was secure and protective, the foetal position comforting.

Who the hell was he?

--

Fuller turned abruptly at the sound of a slamming door and angered footsteps, "Doug?" he queried. He had not expected Doug to return from Tom with a look of pure hate and loathing.

"He'll be _just_ fine," Doug spat once he had stopped next to Fuller.

Fuller frowned, "He regained memory?" then why wasn't Doug smiling?

He spoke flippantly, "Nope, but he'll be fine. Has that Tom Hanson spunk and McQuaid attitude that well all love to hate."

Fuller turned, hoping Harry, Judy and Dennis would take a while still at the coffee machine, "Sit down with me Doug."

"Sorry Coach," his chirpy tone masked his broken, bruised heart, kept the tears he so desperately wanted to cry at bay, "but I'll pass, gonna go home, get a pizza, watch the game, get pisse-"

His tone was sharp, "Sit _down_, Penhall." He leaned into a clear white backed chair that was cushioned and watched Doug sneer disdainfully before following.

"I hate this place, it's so cold and sterile…so….white. It's lifeless and claustrophobic." He barked laughter, "There's a 50 chance that you come in here and die, a 40 chance that you'll come in and go back out alive just fine and a 10 chance that when you leave, when you're buddy leaves, he's not gonna be the same person. Guess which one Tom is."

Fuller nodded, "He may be the forty percent Doug."

"Yea," he scoffed, "maybe..."

Fuller sat, legs apart, body bent a little, hands crossed inbetween legs, looking Doug over, "What happened in there?"

Doug stared at the flaking white wash walls opposite, eyes following the cracks. "Well, he was okay. Real docile and nice; he was afraid though. And he let it rule him and he kinda just snapped, but he was okay, just real … emotional." Doug looked to Adam, "See, he's upset and lost and afraid…he doesn't know who he is…he's scared."

A silence descended and Adam had to push Doug ahead. "Then..."

"Then... I don't know… all I said was not to cry, I can't handle seeing him cry; it's horrible, he's so broken, and he went berserk. Just yelled and yelled and yelled…."

It didn't take a genius to know that Tom had yelled out cruel, harsh words that were aimed singly at Doug, "What exactly did he say?"

"How much he hates me, told me to fuck, and wished that I never knew him so that maybe he could know him. Shit like that."

Fuller swallowed heavily, uncomfortable, "Look, Doug he-"

"I know," he finished, "I know he's angry because he doesn't know who he is, or what his life is like, or anything else but someone, hell, everyone else does. I know he's scared and afraid. Lost and alone and fearful of everything and everyone." He chocked in the back of his throat, "But it still god damn hurt. It hurt so fucking much. After all that shit. All that shit we all went through, that fear and panic and now, not knowing anything. …. I hate it and he doesn't care."

Fuller laid a comforting hand on Doug's shoulders, "It's not that he doesn't care, it's that he doesn't know. He doesn't know who he is, doesn't know how to act, he doesn't even know you or himself. It's all very confronting for him, very real and harsh and different. He's not trying to hurt you; he's tyring to hurt him."

He was greeted with Doug's infuriated glare.

"Penhall, he's enraged with himself, angry and appalled that he can't figure out a simple thing like who he is. Can't understand what you say, can't stand the voids of nothing, the blanks and mingled memories that won't surface. And there's you; you who knows everything about him, you who knows what he so desperately wants to and he hates himself for not being smarter, wiser, more capable and voicing that he hates you…"

"Is his way of kinda saying how he hates himself because of how he's left us at an end like this, how he can't place things and doesn't know his life."

Fuller sighed, "It could mean anything Doug, but the implement behind his words is that Tom doesn't hate you, but himself and he can't express that."

"Yea…" A part of Doug didn't agree, but the ache in his heart had subsided some and he settled with it.

A comfortable silence stretched and left each man with their thoughts. As the clock ticked- ticked Tom's life away Doug had mused- and the hustle of white and blue nurses made their rounds, Adam spoke quietly. "Have you noticed Tom's room number?"

Doug frowned, dragging hands down his tired and exhausted face, yawning widely, "um it's….It's something five." He needed sleep so desperately, though he wouldn't have normally sacked up till much later, he normally didn't have his best friend-and lover- in hospital and the day's events had finally taken their toll.

"It's twenty five, look…"

Doug looked puzzled at Adam before sating at the glistening, crooked, gold plated numbers. They taunted and mocked and leered, and Doug turned away, knowing behind that crème door lay a lost boy. "Twenty five," he repeated.

"The spiteful irony is, in less than a month Tom's going to be twenty-five, and I doubt he'll even know that, even remembers how old he is. His twenty fifth will pass him by without a single mention, without meaning…."

Doug stared into the thoughtful eyes of his superior, "Cheery…" he mumbled.

"He's too young to forget everything he's had to suffer through, everything he's worked so hard for, everything he's loved and made and called home. He's too young." He paused, "Too much has happened in his life…and to tell him that, all of that…"

It dawned on Doug, "His dad….and Amy…oh Jesus…." Doug swore, "His Mum! Shit! Has any one-"

"It's taken care of. Judy called her home but she's not there. She got the message bank."

"Oh…"

"She's in Hawaii, on holiday." He leaned back into the chair, hands on either thigh, "Hasn't left any contact details, only a date that she'll be back and the only one who knows where she is."

"Is Tom," Doug swore, "When will she be back?"

The clocked ticked in the silence, "Two weeks…" It's ticking only grew louder and slower, filling the minutes. Three pairs of footsteps and voices sounded down the far hall and Doug was glad for their distraction.

'Who doesn't carry quarters?" The shrill voice of Judy alarmed several idle nurses. "Me!"

"Clearly! It's because of you we had to travel an extra floor to exchange a god damn note!"

The sneer on Dennis' face was audible and he seethed exasperatedly, "Excuse me, but who _had_ money!? Yea, that's right, _I_ did. And if it weren't for _me_ we'd all be without this so shut up, I don't carry coins, big whoop."

"Why not?!"

"I don't like lose change!"

Footsteps stopped as she rounded the corner, "You don't like- That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard! Doug, isn't that the stupidest thing you've ever heard?!"

He eyed the three; the five paper cups of coffee and stared into Judy's eyes, "Give it here." He made monkey like hand gestures and, rolling her eyes, Judy handed it to him.

"Sir?" he nodded and she passed one over, grabbed one for her self and seated herself next to Doug. "How is he?" Harry sat between her and Dennis, their tension rebounding off him.

Doug's hands tingled from the warmth, "Still the same," the burning liquid soothed his aching throat, "A little more coherent though."

"That's a start, isn't it?" Harry didn't want to look up into the four pairs of eyes; knowing that when he did they would all wear the same expression he felt himself wearing; a sense of lost, smothering hope.

A silence consumed them and each fund themselves occupied with the foamy, white swirls of their cooling coffee. Doctors passed by, each time someone else looked up, waiting anxiously, hopefully, for word of Tom. Finally, when the insistent, crying tick of the clock had become unbearable a young nurse stopped by.

"He's had his dinner." Booker looked up first, nodding mutely. She smiled pleasantly back, infuriating everyone, and made her way off again but added, "It be good if he had a few friends…he's lonely in an unfamiliar world."

Her words echoed, running continuous circles and slowly Judy stood, Harry following her lead. "It could be our only chance tonight."

"Yea," Dennis threw the Styrofoam cup down, scrunched and crumpled. He made a gesture to his Captain who almost reluctantly followed the three.

"Doug," her voice cooed hesitantly.

The cup crunched against his large hands, eyes unmoving, "Nah…you go in…he's already seen me tonight."

Glances and gestures were exchanged, a few mute words and nods before Judy placed an understanding hand on his shoulder, "He'll come back Doug…he just needs some time to switch worlds."

Doug placed his larger hand on top oh hers, "I wish he understood though…you know."

She nodded in understanding, "Come on," her whisper tingled his neck, "Your babe needs you." she added louder, "we need you."

He stood, stretching before chucking his cup alongside with Dennis', "Let's Do it," tones soft but willing.

Judy linked arms with him and Harry; the five of them ready to face who ever this Tom Hanson was.

**Ugh, a little bit of mush there. … Could've been worse…  
Just again, thanks all for the response, I was really shocked and keep them coming, they're always a pleasant thing to brighten a horrible studying day. **


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